Caring Fathers Help Children Win Life's Race

This Father's Day, we salute all fathers who stay with their children and encourage them throughout their lives. The following poem, "The Race," by Dee Groberg delivers a powerful message about a father's influence.

"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!" They shout at me and plead.

There's just too much against you now. This time you can't succeed.

And as I start to hang my head in front of failure's face,

My downward fall is broken by the memory of that race.

And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene,

For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.

A children's race young boys, young men now I remember well,

Excitement, sure but also fear. It wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race,

Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.

And the fathers watched from off the side each cheering for his son.

And each boy hoped to show his Dad that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went, young hearts and hopes of fire,

To win, to be the hero there was each young boy's desire.

And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd,

Was running near the lead and thought, "My Dad will be so proud!"

But as he headed down the field across a shallow dip,

The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace,

And 'mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.

So down he fell and with him hope. He couldn't win it now.

Embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear somehow.

But, as he fell, his Dad stood up and showed his anxious face.

Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win that race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that's all,

And ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,

His mind ran faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.

I'm hopeless as a runner now. I shouldn't try to race."

But in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face.

That steady look that said again. "Get up and win that race!"

So up he jumped to try again. Ten yards behind the last.

"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"

Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten.

But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.

"There's no use in running anymore. Three strikes, I'm out why try?"

The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.

So far behind, so error prone, a loser all the way.

"I've lost so what's the use," he thought. "I'll live with my disgrace."